In the interest of making this a legitimate blog post and not just a classified ad, I’ll share the story of how we came to need a used bike.

We bought Victor a brand-spanking-new bike this spring, but in the interest of long-term usability, we went with an 18-inch model with training wheels. Shortly thereafter, a friend let Victor have her daughter’s old 12-inch girlie bike* after he taught himself to ride it sans training wheels while visiting. Unfortunately, the tire on the mini-femm bike blew out on Sunday and he can’t yet manage the bigger manly bike as a two-wheel conveyance. Not wishing for him to revert back to training wheels, I’d like to find a used bike to get him through the summer or until he hits a growth spurt.

Victor, even more than his two bike-riding-age sisters, loves to be out on the open sidewalk. He rides every chance he gets, even when he’s supposed to be getting in the van to head to school. But it’s been four days now since he last rode and he’s becoming despondent. His mother and I fear that he will turn to drugs to fill the void in his life that had been filled with exhilarating rides through our neighbors’ yards. Please help Victor avoid this dire fate and get back up on his own two wheels.

*He rode it without shame, but has requested something less purple and pink for his next bike.

Speaking Power to Truth
Can anyone provide a literal definition of this phrase? It’s quite popular with the radical set, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it means, other than shorthand for “I’m about to say something that the man doesn’t want you to hear.” There’s something quite insufferable about people like that.

No Idols, Just American Music
For everyone complaining about the Grandstand lineup, and you’re certainly justified in doing so, take heart in the upcoming American Music Show at the Taste of Springfield on July 7. I plan to blog about the event more extensively when the date draws nearer, but know that while it may not offer the recognizable names that you desire, the lineup is long on sheer quality. No cheesey ballads or concocted anthems, just real rock and roll and hardcore country. The Bottle Rockets are going to be here for chrissakes, that should more than make up for whatever muck that Daughtry character has in store for us.

We’re not going to Moscow. Zip in. Zip out. It’s like going to Wisconsin
Speaking of the American Music Show, we’ll be traveling to Wisconsin next month to see one of last year’s headliners, Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles*. They’re playing in Port Washington at a free show in a park right off Lake Michigan. If you have the means, I highly recommend making the trip. It promises to be a kickin’-good time. And if you’re still not sold, Russ will be there.

Come on!
The SJ-R publishes a report on the Springfield Police Department’s purchae of two Segways, almost 40 people have commented on the story online, and not one mention of Gob Bluth, the man who came to personify the tackiest mode of travel ever invented? Sometimes I feel as if I’m surrounded by a cultural void.

*Be sure to pickup a copy of their new CD that’s due out on June 12. The new Wilco is out now. If anyone’s heard it, please comment.

When you look at what the state is offering, it does seem like an attractive deal. It’s much cheaper and is more comprehensive than many employer-sponsored health plans. And if you have more than two kids, the annual income threshold is unexpectedly high, making it a viable option for many middle class families. So why not seek wellness by suckling on the government’s curative teat?

When we think of Medicaid and similar programs, we think of the poor and indigent. In short, we think welfare. And no matter which side you approach it from – as a liberal who feels welfare is compassionate or a conservative who feels that it breeds complacency – most of us who read blogs would feel it below our station to go on the dole. We’ve been taught to work hard and sacrifice to avoid the plight, and the stigma, associated with living on the government’s dime.

Yet there is also the feeling that if the state is going to offer it and we’re going to fund it with our tax dollars, then why not exact as much back as possible by letting the state pay for the kids’ annual physicals and the occasional emergency room pebblectomy.*

So where do you stand? If you could cut in half the amount you pay now for health insurance and still keep your favorite pediatrician, would pride alone prevent you from signing-on to a from of Medicaid?

*This procedure, I’m told, is quite rare and as such may not be covered under even the most comprehensive of plans.

For example, if one were to choose to break bread crumbs with Gandhi, we can assume that this person is a deep-thinking, peace-loving soul. Or a pretentious twit.

On the other hand, someone who wants to smash a fruit and vegetable platter with Gallagher isn’t the least bit pretentious, but probably a twit just the same.

It’s a worthwhile exercise, provided you don’t slip into Mike Lupica-stlye sentimentality. In the interest of stirring up some commentor-generated content, I thought we’d try it here, only with a twist.

Instead of naming three people, you’ll be dining intimately with just one guest. And this person should be your ideological opposite. If you’re a liberal, pick a conservative. If you’re a right winger, pick a leftie.

But the idea here isn’t to provide you an opportunity to throw consommé in their face or jam a chicken bone down their throat.

Instead, pick someone who, for all of your differences, you harbor a quiet respect. Someone whose intelligence you value and whose point-of-view you would like to get a deeper understanding of.

I’ll start it off. Since I’m a moderate who votes both sides of the aisle, I’ll be dining with two others.

Now if Amanda Peet were a white separatist and Angelina Jolie were out blowing up Humvee dealerships, then my choices would be clear and you can be darned sure I’d be asking to look at a dessert menu.** But since they both probably share a lot of the same political views and I wouldn’t want to offend by choosing one over the other, I’ll have to look elsewhere.

With that said, sitting to my left will be none other than William Jefferson Clinton. Yes he disgraced the presidency with his randiness and we’re starting to hear from former Friends of Bill, who have shifted their support to Obama, that the Clinton’s aren’t the most loyal or trustworthy of allies. Still, he is a very intelligent person who certainly doesn’t lack for charisma. If he were candid in his thoughts and wasn’t worried about his comments being leaked to the media, it could make for a fascinating conversation.

To balance out the table, to my right will sit Walter Williams, libertarian/conservative columnist. I admit this is kind of last minute invitation, but I was intrigued by his column in today’s SJ-R***. I use to read Williams quite frequently and although we disagree on many things, in particular on smoking bans, I still enjoy reading his views. He’d make for a delightful dinner companion, provided he didn’t flout the law and light up.

I’d let Bill and Walter do most of the talking while I listened and enjoyed a savory tuna steak accompanied by a nice ale or two. It would be a civil and enlightening affair, and hopefully Bill could charge it all to Hillary’s campaign.

Now your turn. For whom would you cross the political divide to dine with?

*This title was taken from the movie Sleeping With the Enemy, a 1991 Julia Roberts/Patrick Bergin vehicle that was awful in ways too many to mention. Although my wife got to hear them all when we watched it together some years back.

**I’m not sure what this means, but it means something.

***I particularly liked this line: “True compassion for our fellow man requires that we examine not the intentions behind public policy but the effects of that policy.”

It seems that we will be betting on the fact that we are home to a donut factory, a power plant, and a bald man who runs the power plant.

Yes there are similarities between our hometown and the animated Springfield, but after 400 episodes of the show, I would think that even the inhabitants of a remote fishing village in Southeast Asia could come up with enough resemblances to stake a claim as the real Springfield (That Nguyen Duy Phong. He always drunk, just like your Barney Gumble!)

The show’s creators aren’t scouting a shooting location or looking to cast parts; they simply want a real life place that captures the spirit of the Springfield that they’ve created. And it’s here that we do have a real advantage, but we won’t sell it by having Fox 55 personalities dress up in Marge and Homer Halloween costumes or coaxing a bad Monty Burns impersonation out of Todd Renfrow. We have to be willing to show our vulnerable side.

Our Springfield, just like Bart’s Springfield, has an inferiority complex. Shelbyville isn’t our Shelbyville, Chicago is our Shelbyville.

We need to convey the jealously that we feel as Illinois’ second city (or third, or fourth). How we seethe with contempt whenever one of their big city newspaper columnists suggests that we live in a backwater burg. How we scream foul when our tax dollars our exported north of I-80. And how the governor of the state refuses to live in the capital city, lest he be contaminated by its corruption. And then we hit them with the story that will surely resonate inside Matt Groening’s soul.

A common plot on the Simpsons involves the town trying to overcome its second-class status by gathering all of the mettle they can muster to achieve some goal that will prove their worthiness to the outside world. And then they fall flat on their face, the victim of their own avarice or ineptitude.

Or in case of the episode titled Marge vs. the Monorail, the victim of a slick con man named Lyle Lanley who rides into town and convinces the city to empty its coffers into his pockets. Sound familiar, long-time Springfield residents?

I’m a little sketchy on the details, but once upon a time a swindler by the name of George Celani convinced us that he was going to bring jobs and wealth to our community by turning Capital Airport into the hub for his fledgling Kayport express shipping empire. Deals were made and money was invested before Celani disappeared into the night. I’m told that a taunting, Nelson-like Ha! Ha! could be heard echoing throughout the city once the swindle was uncovered.

So here is what I propose. We produce a brief mockumentary of the Christopher Guest variety. In it, we convey the message that we’d love to host the movie’s premiere, but that we’re a little leery of slick-talking outsiders offering to put us on the map. Then we tell our woeful story.

Taking considerable dramatic license, we have citizens/actors tell of how they tied their hopes to the coming of this wonderful new enterprise, and how they’re still struggling in the aftermath of those shattered dreams. They could mention the governor refusing to live here and talk about how our annual civic-pride festival had to be cancelled because people got a bit overzealous in drowning their sorrows. Maybe we could even get Richard Roeper or some other Chicago columnist to play himself while heaping ridicule on us poor Springfieldians.

And then the film would end, in true Simpsons spirit, on an optimistic note with the townsfolk again coming together and willing to take another chance to demonstrate our community’s virtues.

With a good script and the right local acting talent, there is great comedic potential in this approach. But this idea will never make it past this blog.

I suspect that those in charge of host-the-Simpsons campaign will take the sunny, happy approach favored by tourism councils and highlight all of the quirky coincidences that tie our Springfield to theirs. And of course they’ll play the Abe card. But I know about Jebediah Springfield and Abraham Lincoln is no Jebediah Springfield. Lincoln is a dignified figure, revered by all and the butt of no jokes. How un-Simpsons like!